


Let's Play Together

by huldrejenta



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Band Fic, Community: rs_small_gifts, Everybody Lives, Fluff, M/M, MWPP, Marauders, Post-Hogwarts, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 20:56:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8938960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huldrejenta/pseuds/huldrejenta
Summary: The way Remus remembers it, their old band used to be quite awful. The way Sirius remembers it, they were a huge success. Maybe they're both right.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nerakrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerakrose/gifts).



> Happy Holidays!  
> Many thanks to [starfishstar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/starfishstar/pseuds/starfishstar) for beta reading!

It’s strange in hindsight the things Remus remembers from their last winter at Hogwarts.

He remembers the way four pairs of black boots would get covered in sleet and routinely slipping on the frosty grounds. He remembers well-worn t-shirts with prints of obscure Muggle bands James liked to say no one but them had heard of (sometimes _he_ hadn’t heard of them either, but that was beside the point). He remembers Sirius in front of the mirror rehearsing putting on eye-liner without looking like he was dressing up for Halloween (it took him a while to create a decent look, but he did get the hang of it, and then some).

He remembers Peter’s father taking their picture at King’s Cross when the Christmas holidays were about to begin. “Smile now, boys,” he’d said, but they had no such plans. In matching leather jackets, they’d crossed their arms, sucked in their cheeks and glared with heavy eyelids into the camera.

And this is what Remus remembers about the band they had back then. Plenty of exterior effects, they were brilliant with those. Actual substance and a sliver of talent? Not so much.

(He also remembers how much time he spent trying to hide the fact that he was always looking at Sirius, and this is, to be honest, one thing that hasn’t changed.)

Sirius, on the other hand, remembers the band very differently from Remus.

“We were so close!” He waves the picture jerkily around, the one Peter’s father took. Sirius found it when he went snooping in Peter’s drawers for some Exploding Snap cards. Now the cards are forgotten as he’s taking a trip down memory lane to what he clearly remembers as a huge musical triumph. Occasionally he thrusts the picture into James’ face for emphasis. Then he stops pacing for a minute, looking at the words he’d written on the back of the picture years ago. And he reads them out loud. Really loud.

“Listen to this: ‘Vocals and guitar: Sirius Black. Guitar and vocals: James Potter. Bass: Remus Lupin. Drums: Peter Pettigrew.’ Dream team if ever there was one. We could’ve been big stars by now.”

He doesn’t seem to think his friends react with the appropriate level of outrage and indignation, so he turns it up a notch.

“Come on, guys. Don’t you remember seventh year? How good we were? Hmm? We could’ve been brilliant by now! We were rising stars! We were _on our way!_ ”

Peter makes a sound and starts slowly disappearing down into his turtleneck. James looks torn between being sympathetic and making fun of Sirius. Remus calmly turns a page in the book he’s reading.

“We had _one_ concert,” he says. “One concert at the Three Broomsticks, which Rosmerta allowed us to do out of the goodness of her heart. It was a horrible concert, Sirius, and even Rosmerta couldn’t be persuaded to give us another chance after that disaster.”

Sirius raises a finger. “We weren’t _that_ bad! I mean, yeah, the rhythm was a bit uneven, and the harmonies weren’t quite top notch, I’ll give you that, but it was nothing that a few extra rehearsals and the infamous Marauder persistence wouldn’t have fixed!”

And then he starts pacing again.

Remus is fairly certain that everyone who had the misfortune of being at the Three Broomsticks that evening still has nightmares about it. He’s on his way to opening his mouth and saying so when James pipes up.

“Padfoot, Lily is still teasing me about the bruises she got when she fell on her arse laughing at us.”

And Peter says, “It may seem unlikely to you, Padfoot, but I’m willing to bet that people are able to blunder through their lives without our punk-glam rock or whatever you could call it to brighten up their days.”

Sirius huffs and looks like he’s on the verge of a sulk.

“Okay,” he says. “Fine. Be that way. If you don’t get that the disaster in this scenario isn’t our concert, but that we quit playing afterwards, I might just start up again on my own. Become a huge rock star. _Without you._ ”

Remus finally puts his book aside. “That’s not quite the threat you think it is, Sirius,” he says, fondly, because the idea of Sirius starting any adventure without his friends by his side is quite frankly ludicrous. James snorts and Peter giggles (he immediately clears his throat pretending it wasn’t a giggle, but it definitely was), and even Sirius’ mouth starts twitching at the corners.

He lays the picture back down into the drawer where he found it. “I just think that...” he says, and then, “It used to be so much fun, and maybe we could all just... Fine,” he says, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’ll stop.”

Sirius isn’t one for prolonged brooding, and minutes later he’s enthusiastically commenced making plans for their New Year’s Eve party, which is going to be _sensational_ , he says. Whatever upset him, he quickly bounces back. Only Remus can’t help but notice that he doesn’t bounce back all the way. (Truth is he can’t help but notice because he’s always watching Sirius out of the corner of his eye.)

So when Remus knocks on James and Lily’s door the next day, he’s got a plan.

Winter has decided to pay them a visit during the night. Remus kicks snow off his boots and hides his hands deeper into the sleeves of his woollen jumper, frosty breaths dancing like fog around his head.

“Did Sirius seem off to you yesterday?” he says when James opens the door, still clad in his pyjamas. He cradles a cup of tea in one hand, the other one resting on Harry, who’s peeking at Remus from behind his father’s legs. As James waves him inside, Remus says “Hello, mate” to Harry and compliments them both on the matching Quidditch patterns on their pyjamas.

James yawns and drags a hand through his hair. “Can’t say I noticed anything was up with Sirius. Not more than usual, at least, you know how he gets.” He taps a finger against his cheek and Remus waits. James has a knack for figuring out what Remus means once he gets to think about it. “I suppose he was quite bothered about that whole band disaster thing.” He taps again. “Do you think he was really upset?” He keeps tapping and Remus waits. “You’re right, maybe he was. He’s always been pretty emotional about stuff we did at Hogwarts. Yes. So, what are we going to do about it?”

Twenty minutes later James is dressed and they’re standing inside the shed where generations of Potters have stocked away stuff they no longer need but can’t bear to get rid of.

“I can’t believe I kept all the instruments,” James says.

“You said maybe Harry would want to play in a band when he grows up.”

“Did I? That sounds uncharacteristically farsighted of me.”

James does some mysterious movements with his wand and then it all appears in front of their eyes. Guitars. Bass. Drums. Despite himself, Remus can feel his stomach flutter with excitement.

“Okay,” says James when they’ve made room for the instruments at the front of the shed with loads of various junk crammed behind them, fondly caressing his guitar. “I thought Padfoot had lost the plot completely when he talked about our band yesterday. But now I have a feeling that doing a bit of jamming is going to be _amazing_.”

Remus isn’t quite so certain, but he’s got no doubt that Sirius will love it, and that’s reason enough for him.

And when Sirius and Peter drop by, a half hour later, Remus can see for himself just how much Sirius does indeed love it.

“Merlin’s saggy arse!” he says with a wide grin, brightly delighted. “Look at this!” He rushes over to his guitar and throws the strap across his shoulder. He plays a few chords and lets out a little squeal. “Brilliant, innit? I can’t _believe_ you guys did this! Thank you! You’re the absolute best.”

“Actually,” says James, “you can thank Remus and his inability to see you being gutted about anything.” He says it offhandedly, like it’s nothing. “This is all his idea.”

Remus doesn’t think it’s nothing, not at all. Judging by the curious look he sends Remus’ way, neither does Sirius. So Remus hurries on.

“The band is just for now, Sirius. A few rehearsals, and then maybe we can play at New Year’s. If we can bribe anyone to show up.”

But despite their initial reluctance, Sirius’ enthusiasm is infectious. Peter throws himself at the drums. James picks up his guitar and Remus finds his bass. It feels remarkably good.

“Ready?” says James and they all nod with various degrees of certainty. Sirius plays a few chords, gets some sort of melody going and the rest of them join in. Hesitantly at first, with no real plan besides getting the feel for their instruments again. Soon they’re more confident, quickly picking up speed and volume, and before long they’re all playing as loudly as possible. Peter almost falls off his chair and Sirius seems like he’s soon about to snap a guitar string. They sound awful. It’s off-key and discordant and completely without rhythm, notes are clashing terribly with each other and every attempt at singing sounds more like tuneless screeching than any song Remus has ever heard. He isn’t even sure if they’re playing one particular song. Still, the whole thing is so full of joy that he can’t help but get drawn in.

“Wait!” Peter tries to get his voice heard over the cacophony, which isn’t easy, but he manages eventually. “This is fun and all, but I do have a feeling it would sound marginally less horrible if we at least tried to play the same song. You know. Together.”

He may have a point.

“What should we play then?” says James.

“Our number one hit song, of course,” says Sirius.

“You mean the only song we ever wrote ourselves?” says Remus, and yes, it seems it’s exactly what Sirius means.

“Naturally,” he says. “I’m certain we all still remember such a masterpiece.”

And so they start playing again, this time all of them more or less the same song. They can’t seem to get the melody right, but it’s still good. James is jumping around and hits his strings with more force than they’re made for. Sirius screams out lyrics he remembers suspiciously well. Peter tries to speed it all up, and Remus plays his steady bass line and keeps the whole thing somewhat together. He can feel his pulse roaring in his ears and sweat is steaming around them. By the time they’re done, he finds it hard to remember why exactly he was ever opposed to this.

Merlin, this is fun.

But when Remus, tipsy on adrenaline and excitement, has put his bass away, and James and Peter have stepped outside for some fresh air, trying to get the pounding noise out of their heads, Sirius doesn’t look as if he’s had much fun. In fact, he looks miserable.

“Uhm." Remus clears his throat. "Sirius?”

Sirius slides down onto the floor, guitar still in his lap. “You were right,” he says and bites his lip.

“About what?” Remus says, sliding down beside him.

“I remember everything about the band completely wrong. I thought we used to be amazing, or that we could be if we just practiced a little bit. But we’re just... _terrible_ , aren’t we?”

Remus thinks about it. “You don’t remember everything wrong. Or if you do, I’ve got it just as wrong as you do. Maybe we aren’t as good as we are in your memories. But you remember the band as a good thing, and it _is_ a good thing. I had forgotten how much fun this is. And we’re actually better than I remember.”

Sirius snorts and pulls a face, somehow managing to look attractive while he does it. “We must be _really_ bad in your memories, then.”

“Well, yeah.”

“And you still arranged this. For me. To make me happy.”

This might be heading in a dangerous direction. “Uhm. Yeah.”

Sirius looks at him, wide-eyed and unblinking. He leans a fraction closer, warm breath mixing with Remus'. And just like that the old and draughty Potter shed is a _spectacular_ place to be. Spectacular and slightly petrifying.

“Thank you,” Sirius says. “We may not be as good at playing as I remember, but... Well. We’re all here and we're having fun. Together.” He blinks then, once, twice, and then he clears his throat. He’s astoundingly close.

“Will you play something for me?” Remus says, because he’s fairly certain they’re having a moment, and he has no idea what he should be doing. Besides, Sirius isn’t all that bad on his guitar and he has a decent voice.

Sirius adjusts the guitar in his lap. The moment seems to be over, although not quite. “Okay,” he says. He strums the strings with his fingernails, moves his left hand into impressive positions and clumsily squeezes music from the instrument. Then he starts to sing. It sounds a bit helpless, and Remus has never loved him more.

When he’s finished, he puts the guitar down and leans closer again. This time he doesn’t stop until his nose touches Remus’. It’s remarkably hard to focus eyes and mind when Sirius breathes into his mouth in an almost-kiss, black hair falling over Remus’ face like soft fabric.

“Remus,” says Sirius and leans back, just a little. He doesn’t say anything more, but he doesn’t have to. A sparkle of something passes over his face and he curls his mouth into a grin as he lowers his head under Remus’ gaze, and _oh_.

“Finally!” James hollers.

“About time, you imbeciles!” Peter joins in. They’re inside again, and with their usual immaculate timing and sense of tact they’re yelling their approval, even though nothing has really happened.

Only Remus knows that’s not quite true. Somehow, something very important happened. He’s fairly certain it’s a good thing, and he smiles.

Sirius smiles too as he gets to his feet, a brilliant smile of that special kind that only he can make.

And then they pick up their instruments again, and they all play together, the same song one more time. It’s too loud and out of tune and full of joy, and it is, quite frankly, _sensational._


End file.
